Page 31 of Made for Saints

The intimacy of the moment made my head spin, and I wasn’t sure if it was the weed or the way his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. His thumb grazed the edge of my jaw, slow and deliberate, like he was testing how far he could push me. I swayed slightly, caught in the gravity of him, my body betraying me as I leaned closer instead of pulling away.

A low, satisfied hum rumbled from his chest, and his lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile that made my pulsethunder in my ears. His face was so close now that I could feel the heat of him, his lips just inches from mine. For a fleeting moment, I thought he might close the distance, and the thought alone sent a jolt through me—a mix of panic and something far more dangerous.

But before he could say anything—or before I could figure out whether I wanted him to—voices drifted toward us from the terrace, shattering the moment like glass. Dante stepped back smoothly, the movement almost lazy, but his hand lingered on my waist for a beat too long, his fingers pressing into the curve of my hip like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“Careful, princess,” he said, his hand brushing against the small of my back, his breath warm against my ear. “You keep tempting fate.”

“Maybe fate should be afraid of me,” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended, though it hadn’t been enough to drown out the way my pulse quickened under his gaze.

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and unreadable, his voice dropping to a murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. “Think about what I said,” he murmured, slipping the joint into my hand, his fingers brushing against mine in a way that made my breath catch. “And stay away from Romero.”

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my skin still burned where he’d touched me. “Or what?” I asked, my voice steadier now, though my pulse betrayed me, racing like I’d just run a marathon.

His smile darkened, all predator now, his gaze trapping me in place as if daring me to defy him. "Or I'll have to show you what real danger looks like."

He lingered for a moment longer, his eyes trailing down to my lips as if he were considering breaking every unspoken rule between us. I felt the air shift, the tension almost unbearable, and I hated how my body responded to it—how I wanted him to close that distance, even if I knew it would destroy me.

But just as quickly as the moment came, it was gone. Without another word, he disappeared into the shadows,moving with the kind of grace that only someone like Dante could pull off. He left me standing there alone, my chest rising and falling too fast, the joint still clutched in my hand like some kind of evidence of what had just happened.

I stared after him, the echo of his touch still lingering on my skin, my thoughts spiraling in a million directions. I hated how he got under my skin, how he could unravel me with just a look, a word, a touch. And I hated that, deep down, some part of me didn’t want him to stop.

As I turned back toward the terrace, his words echoed in my mind, low and raspy, like a warning I couldn’t shake.

I'll have to show you what real danger looks like.

The memory of his dark, smoldering expression lingered long after he was gone, like a phantom touch that refused to fade.

Chapter 12

Dante

The first time I saw her soaking wet, I knew I was in trouble.

It wasn’t the kind of trouble that came with a gun pressed to your temple or a deal gone south. No, this was worse. This was the kind of trouble that dug its claws into you, crawled under your skin, and made itself a permanent part of you. It was the kind of trouble you couldn’t outrun, couldn’t fight, and couldn’t forget.

She hadn’t noticed me that day, standing in the shadows of her father’s estate, my meeting with Vincent delayed by some minor inconvenience. I’d stepped outside to escape the suffocating weight of his study—the cigar smoke, the sharp tang of whiskey, the endless talk of power plays and alliances. But what I found outside was far more dangerous.

She was by the pool, emerging from the water like some kind of siren sent to test the limits of my self-control.

Her hair clung to her shoulders in dark, wet waves, droplets of water trailing down her skin like they had a purpose—like they were trying to draw my eyes to every curve and hollow of her body. The sunlight danced across her, catching on the line of her collarbone, the dip of her waist, the smooth stretch of her legs. Her swimsuit, simple and black, left just enough to the imagination, but it was what it didn’t hide that made my throat tighten.

She moved with an unintentional grace, wringing out herhair as if she hadn’t just stolen the breath from my lungs. Barefoot, her toes curled slightly against the hot stone tiles, and I found myself fixating on the smallest details. It wasn’t just lust. It was something worse, something deeper.

She was laughing at something one of her brothers had said, the sound light and carefree, cutting through the heaviness of the estate like a blade. That laugh—it didn’t belong here, not in a world of shadows and blood and power. It was too pure, too unguarded, and it made me ache in ways I didn’t want to acknowledge. For a moment, I forgot who I was. Where I was. Why I was there.

All I could think about was her.

The way her lips curved when she smiled, full and soft, like they were meant to be kissed. The way her eyes sparkled in the sunlight, shining brighter than any kind of wealth her family could claim. She didn’t look like she belonged in this world of ours—the world of men like me, where danger was currency and trust was a weakness. She looked like something meant to be cherished, protected.

And yet, all I could think about was ruining her.

It was maddening. She was maddening.

I’d turned away before she could notice me, retreating to the shadows like the predator I was. But even as I left, I couldn’t shake the image of her—the way the water had clung to her skin, the way her laughter had echoed in my ears like a melody I didn’t deserve to hear. It stayed with me, vivid and unrelenting, haunting me in the quiet moments when I let my guard slip.

And now, standing in the grand dining room of the Conti estate, surrounded by the hum of familiar voices and the clinking of crystal glasses, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

She was across the room, but it didn’t matter. I could feel her, like the pull of gravity, like something primal and instinctual I couldn’t fight. My gaze found her without meaning to, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. That dress. That body. God. Damn.

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